Anathema
by Aspect of One
Summary: "This was never a choice, it was our fate. We were chosen." Welcome to the 25th Hunger Games!
1. The Broken King

**I do not own the Hunger Games.**

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**Prologue Part I**

**The Broken King**

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**President of Panem**

**Tygraz Kaias**

* * *

Pale, slender hands straightened Tygraz's crimson silk tie for him.

"I'm finished, President Tygraz," the smooth voice cut through the oppressive silence.

Glacier blue eyes flicked to the left, briefly meeting bright gold ones. Tygraz's lips pulled up into a faint, courteous smile.

"Thank you," he answered coolly.

Calmly, he assessed his outfit. A tuxedo with a shimmery green dress shirt worn underneath. The crimson tie rested against his chest, small glittering diamonds encrusted on it. Flashy, his wife would call it. But it would be exactly to her taste.

_"Aura!" Tygraz yelled. "Hurry up!"_

_He held his daughter in one hand, the other outstretched to his clambering wife. Ryna whimpered, burying her face even deeper into her father's shirt._

_"Papa," she cried, "I'm scared."_

_It was pandemonium everywhere. Gunshots and bloodcurdling shrieks filled the air. The rebels had invaded the Capitol. Tygraz's home was half destroyed by the bombs, various items on fire, and it was spreading. He continued keeping his daughter tucked in the nook of his arms, valiantly trying his best to keep her from seeing the blood that ran on the floor. _

_"Aura," he pleaded._

_Time was running out. The need to save his wife kept him rooted to the ground. The remains of the ceiling crumbled._

Pulling back from his thoughts, Tygraz eyed his stylist. Her dressing was provocative; top barely covering her assets. This time she wore the colour gold. Aura's favourite colour was gold. An almost mean smile crossed his face. Almost. Since the incident, he had kept every emotion that shown him as human locked away. There was no one that he needed to be human to.

Livia touched his arm, hand lingering there too long. He removed her hand, expressionless as always. Disappointment flickered over her face.

"Wear blue from now on," he told her as he walked out.

Aura hated blue.

_Sweaty hands gripped his. Aura's face was strained and pale. Tygraz's heart lurched when he saw the condition his wife was in. His knees hit the floor, pain jolting through him, as he pulled Aura towards him. For some reason, he gave her gold hair a quick patdown. The action soothed him a little, calmed him a little._

_Picking up Ryna, he started running towards their back entrance, hand gripping Aura's tightly. The rest of the ceiling came crashing down. Something slipped from his grasp, followed by a piercing shriek._

_"Mommy!" Ryna wailed._

_Tygraz spun around wildly, one hand keeping a firm hold on his daughter's head._

_"Tygraz," Aura called weakly._

_Her legs were trapped underneath the rubble. A faint bang echoed throughout the burning house. Shouts filled the air, demanding for the President._

"You're up in ten, Mr. President!" the anchorman grinned before turning to the rest of his crew members.

Tygraz nodded curtly. Standing stock still, keeping his breathing even, Tygraz practiced his expressions. One, smile, two, triumph, three, serious. The chatter of the Capitolites in the hall floated through the backstage. It made him smile slightly, though his eyes grew darker. Once he walked out onto stage, he knew what awaited him; the adoring looks from his citizens, the cheers as he announced the Quarter Quell, the even louder gossip as anticipation started to build for the Reaping.

Were Aura still alive, she would be beside him comforting him. She would be telling him that he would be fine, that he would deliver his lines perfectly. She was his rock, someone he could always fall back on in times of weakness.

Now, he was alone.

He would not show weakness. He must not be weak.

Instead, he took comfort in her spirit.

"-and ten! Mr. President, you're up!" the anchorman yelled.

Plastering on a confident smile, Tygraz strode onto stage. Lights flashed everywhere, blinding him. The rapid clicking uncomfortably reminded him of _that_ time. But he pushed the memories away as best as he could, and focused on what he had to do. Knowing the way to the podium like the back of his hand, he walked to it. For twenty-nine years, it had been his rightful place.

Cheers and applause erupted as he walked to the podium. Standing on it, he patiently waited for his citizens to settle.

His voice boomed throughout the hall as he spoke.

"Ladies and gentleman, this is the twenty-fifth year of the Hunger Games. It also means that this is the first quarter of the Capitol's victory over the districts' rebellion. For this year, to mark the anniversary, this Hunger Games will be our first Quarter Quell! Each future Quarter Quell will have a twist to it, and this year's is no exception." He paused to allow the words to sink in before continuing. "Let us pick our twist for our first Quarter Quell!"

Tygraz's eyes glimmered as the child carrying the box full of the twists walked up to him. He resisted smiling, already knowing what the twist was. Picking up the yellow envelope labeled twenty-fifth, he unsealed it and pulled out the slip of paper. The child left.

Turning back to face his audience, Tygraz skimmed the ornate lettering on the paper. He allowed a moment more of silence to fuel the Capitolites' curiosity even more.

Heartbeat thrumming away in his ears, he read, "As a reminder to the districts that the rebels chose to sacrifice their children in the rebellion, the districts will have to choose their own tributes by voting for this Hunger Games."

_With Tygraz's help, Aura was free of the rubble. But it was clear standing was a struggle for her. _

_"Papa, let me down! Carry mommy," Ryna insisted, pulling on his sleeve._

_"It's...fine..." Aura breathed. "Just leave me behind."_

_Tygraz could hear his wife's voice tremble. They locked eyes; one pair beseeching the other to run, and the other resolutely saying no. _

_"I can't," he answered decisively as he let Ryna down. _

_He bent down and helped Aura climb onto his back. Hooking his arms around her legs, he burst into a sprint. He chanced a glance back, saw his daughter lagging behind, and slowed down. It hurt him that he could not protect his little girl's eyes from the carnage around her. Their dead bodyguards and avoxes; he refused to think what she made of all this._

_Ryna caught up with him and trying to hold her hand as best as he can, he started running again. They were almost at the backdoor._

_The front door of the room burst open. _

_"Found him!" a man yelled._

_"No," Aura whispered._

_Utter horror took hold of Tygraz when he realised his wife was intentionally slipping from his grasp. No, no, no! He tried to tighten his hold on her, but a scream distracted him._

_Ryna._

_He whirled around, grip loosening on Aura from the shock. His little daughter, his precious gem, had her face contorted as she fell to the ground. Blood bloomed on her white dress. Her lips parted and moved, forming 'Papa' and 'Mama'._

_His howl nearly tore his throat into half. _

_"Hit the President you retard," a rebel snarled as he cocked his gun straight at Tygraz._

_Tygraz wasn't quite sure that he minded dying at this point. Though as he thought it, his legs also began to move, wanting to avoid the bullet that was sure to come._

_Then, he felt his back become a lot lighter. Tangled gold hair crossed his vision. The backdoor banged open, with it coming more yells. His hand tried to reach out, or at least it did, he thought. A gunshot rang out. He did not quite feel attached to his body right now. _

_Whatever happened next, Tygraz was not certain. All he knew were the hoarse shouts of President!, cold marble pressing against his cheek, gunfire, and an oddly chilling scream that sounded like his and another person's at the same time._

_And then, all he remembered were the unmoving bodies of his wife and daughter._

Tygraz picked up his wine flute and sipped from it, staring vacantly out of the window, down at the city lights. The cheers and wild applause from earlier still remained with him. Yet, they seemed so far away at the same time, as things often seem to be after the rebellion. It often felt like he was in another world, separated from the rest.

He expected to feel joy and elation when he announced the twist. The only thing he felt now was a sense of desolation eating away at him. He could not understand why. Sipping his wine again, he wondered how Ryna would be like now. Whether she would be married now. Would he and Aura have another child? His lips tugged up into a caustic smile. How many more times would he torture himself with thoughts of an unattainable future?

But this was his vengeance, he told himself. This Quell was what he had been waiting for ever since the implementation of the Hunger Games. But something felt deeply wrong. Wrong with what exactly, he could not pinpoint.

He stared down at his wine flute.

This was his right. Why couldn't he be happy about it?

_Maybe because it was not what he truly wanted._

* * *

_anathema n. – a person or thing accursed or consigned to damnation or destruction._

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**A/N: Back with another SYOT, I know right. For those who submitted to The Winter Palace, you might be feeling really apprehensive right now, but I assure you that I will complete this and Anathema. My writing will be picking up once June 10th is over and I intend to write like a madwoman for both stories.**

**Anyway, to be brief, this is the 25th Hunger Games so it's basically the Quell for which the tributes are chosen. Guidelines and the form are on my profile but I'll stress this here anyway: _no_tributes through review, and the deadline is June 15th 2359 GMT+8. So yes, this is open submissions. **

**The format I'll be using for this story is the one used for Measured in Blood by jakey121. He has very kindly granted me permission to use his format :D. And seriously, if you haven't read what he has written so far, go and read them, his writing is really good. **

**Next chapter will be prologue part II!**


	2. Victors

**Prologue Part II**

**Victors**

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**Victor of the 24****th**** Hunger Games**

**Jasper Fayruz**

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Paper crinkled as Jasper knelt, placing a bouquet of white flowers in front of a tombstone. The inscription on the tombstone read: _Forever lovingly in our memories, Efea Ametrine_. Silver gleamed as he put a ring down in front of the grave marker. Her name was engraved onto it. Silence stretched on as he continued gazing at it, smiling softly.

He remembered his district partner. It was hard to forget about her to begin with, and the kind of change she managed to bring about within him, but he never thought forgetting her would be this hard. If he returned back to the depths of his memories, he would remember her laughter, her fierceness, her tears, her death. Sometimes he did. Other times he resisted. He wanted to continue to remember her though. So, he was glad that he found it hard to forget her.

Laughter escaped him. Efea would laugh at him right now if she knew what he thought, what he remembered.

"Hey Efea," he began. "I know you aren't one for sappy things, but I can't really help it. I would have given you your token on your death anniversary, but I'm going to mentor this year so I'll be in the Capitol during it." He paused, unsure of how to continue. That ring had been lost to the lava in the arena much to Efea's despair. After a bit more of silence, he finished with, "Thank you."

That, he thought, summed everything up nicely. His smile turned bitter. If only she knew how much of an impact she had on him. Before, it would be unlike him to be this sentimental. But seeing certain things, and interacting with certain people changed things. Changed him. He drew himself away from the resentment in him. It would not do to dwell on it, to fall into it. He stood up.

He had to continue living.

"Thank you," he whispered, "for showing me that there is so much more than victory and glory."

Turning around, he left the grave. He inhaled the warm summery scent of the trees, felt it calm him a little. Today was Reaping morning; just a few more hours left. He would be sitting on the stage this time watching the people, two of which had been chosen. There was a surprising numbness in him. He expected a torrent of emotions, maybe confusion at how he would really feel. But he did not feel anything in particular. Perhaps it was acceptance.

Outside, he saw a slender blond woman waiting for him. She turned around, grinned at him, and greeted him with a wave. Citrine Adulai – Victor of the 20th Hunger Games.

"Citrine," he answered neutrally. "What are you doing here?"

"I just thought I'll come by, you know," she replied blithely.

Jasper rarely knew how to deal with Citrine. She was a force of nature, sweeping everyone up into her own beat. Looking at her smile so brightly, he shuddered a little on the inside. It took a lot to not see her as a cold-blooded murderer. The number of kills she raked up for her Hunger Games left him with an open jaw. Then, he chuckled at his hypocrisy. It was not as if he was any different; killing the weak tributes without much thought.

"Why are you laughing?" Citrine asked.

He turned to look at her, smirked at her wary expression.

"Nothing much. Just thinking of our Hunger Games."

She smiled. "It was dramatic, no? Though I think yours takes the cake. I doubt any of us expected Efea to throw herself into the lava."

Jasper winced. He forgot how sharp Citrine's words could be.

"I...suppose," he answered haltingly.

A peal of laughter left her.

It was down to him and Efea – the final two. Even now, as he thought about it, it still hurt. It still created guilt that gnawed away at him. She volunteered out of nowhere because she wanted to escape her life of poverty. She revealed it to him in the middle of the Games when he allied with her after breaking off from the Career Pack. And when it came down to the two of them, she willingly sacrificed herself for him to win. If he killed himself, she would have at last gained her wish of wanting to escape poverty. Never mind that she would be rejected if she really did come back.

He hated thinking about it.

Really, he was a coward. He still wanted to live. His hands could not draw the blade across his throat.

"It takes a special kind of person to do that though," Citrine's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"What?" it slipped out before he could stop it.

"Killing herself when victory was so close at hand. Maybe you could call it bravery or," she cast a sideways glance at him, "stupidity?"

"It was selflessness," he said softly. For a moment, he hung back, wondering how much he wanted to tell Citrine. The words came out albeit with hesitation, "She told me that she had already lived. When we allied with each other, she told me that she already managed to experience luxury even if it was short-lived."

He fell into silence after that. Jasper Fayruz did not cry, but right then and there, he felt close to breaking. After all this time when he barely managed to hold himself together with beliefs he clung to.

"Maybe that was why she committed suicide. She already had her wish granted," Citrine mused.

"Maybe," he muttered in return.

Upon seeing that they were about to enter a more populous part of District One, he stopped walking. The blue-eyed woman flicked her eyes to him, questioning.

"I'll detour from here," he said. Both of them knew he was lying. There was no other way to take.

Citrine did not reply. Her silence made him uncomfortable. A witty quip or sharp words were usually what came after. Finally, at length, she said, "You should let yourself grief. Keeping on such a strong front and convincing yourself that you'll be strong will only make things hurt worse when you finally it. It's good that you're trying to move on...but, you need to allow yourself to heal."

She ended softly, looking at Jasper with an expression he had never seen before. One of gentleness, almost motherly.

"I'm a Victor too, Jasper," she continued, voice growing softer and softer. So much so that he needed to strain his ears. "We all carry a burden that only we can understand."

Her hand reached up to touch his shoulder, lingering on it. The touch almost undid him. Turning his back to her, he sucked in a deep breath to calm himself. His entire body shook from the restrained tears. Citrine did not say anything else. He was glad for it. He feared that anymore words from her would cause him to crumble. The last thing he wanted was for anyone else to see their latest Victor crying in public. Still, a tear slid down his cheek, followed by a shaky exhale of breath.

In that manner, he stayed there for what seemed like a long time. Unbidden memories of Efea's death fled back into his mind. Her smiling, her tears, her shaky voice. Her willing him to not let her death carry too much of a burden on him, that it was not his fault. Faintly, he realised that he _was_ crumbling. Bit by bit, but crumbling nonetheless. Fighting against the wave of self-hatred, guilt (though directed at something else this time), and sadness, he pulled himself together. He needed to piece himself back together again. Even if only for the moment, for the next few hours.

At last, he turned back to Citrine who gazed at him with an understanding expression.

"I understand," she spoke. "I perfectly understand it."

Her lips twisted into a sorrowful smile then, Jasper catching the shadow that fleeted across her eyes.

Her hand briefly touched his as she looked on in another direction. Somehow, he sensed that she was seeing something else.

"Let's get something to eat."

It seemed more as if to get their minds off their thoughts.

"Yeah," he agreed.

As Victors, they shared a burden only they could understand. It felt hollow thinking about it. An understanding wrought only through loss of many kinds, of an experience that would forever stay with them. The dead had it lucky, he reflected. They did not need to deal with the aftermath.

Yet, beneath his whirlwind of emotions, Jasper knew that he would be able to move on. If only for the value of life that Efea taught him.

He still needed time though. Time that he forbade himself.

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_Each breath we take is a gift. Each moment of life is a grace._

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**A/N: And that's the second part of the prologue! Unfortunately, the blog link won't be up with this chapter because I haven't received enough tributes yet (mainly males), but I thought I'll update anyway :). The deadline has been extended to June 15th so I'm afraid you'll have to wait till then for the list of accepted tributes. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!**

**Next chapter: Reapings + Blog link**


	3. Condemnation and Benediction

**Reapings**

**Condemnation and Benediction**

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**Victor of the 20th Hunger Games**

**Citrine Adulai; District One**

* * *

"It'll be fine," Citrine murmured to herself as she sat in a chair.

She said the same thing to herself every year. It became a mantra for her during her Victory Tour to calm her nerves. Now, it was to convince herself that District One would have a tribute come back alive whether she mentored or not.

"Citrine?"

"Yes?" she turned around to face Idela.

The older woman smiled, and grasped Citrine's hand, squeezing it. Citrine appreciated the gesture of reassurance. It felt as if all she had after her Hunger Games was herself.

"Are you alright?" Idela asked, concern written all over her features.

Citrine smiled. "I am. Don't worry."

"That's good. You looked so far away that I became worried. You don't show these kind of expressions in public," the other Victor replied gently.

Citrine smiled wanly, masking her surprise that Idela actually noticed what kind of appearance she preferred showing.

"I'm fine," she repeated, turning back to the audience. "Look, Maybelle's coming up right now, let's pay attention."

Those were not words she normally spoke. But she didn't particularly care at that moment. She looked over at Jasper, then back at Idela. The microphone screeching pulled her from her thoughts though, and she focused back on the escort. Her lips twitched as Maybelle giggled. She could never stand her.

"Welcome, welcome to the 25th Hunger Games! It's the first Quarter Quell, exciting don't you think?" Maybelle cried, throwing her arms out.

A general consensus went up from the crowd. Citrine noted with amusement that Maybelle deflated a little from the lack of attention. She continued watching as the maroon-coloured escort went to draw out the slip of paper from the female Reaping Bowl. Maybelle returned to the microphone, opening it. Citrine smiled to herself as she remembered the campaigning that happened around the district after the Quell announcement, even with the tournament held in the training academy.

"Royal Costayne!"

Citrine perked up, eyes landing on the blond running out of her section, obviously eager to get onstage. Citrine resisted laughing when she saw Maybelle's eyebrows furrow.

"Royal Costayne," Royal announced as she came to stand beside the escort. "Thanks for choosing me, District One!"

"But she's ugly," Maybelle muttered.

"And you're so full of wit, aren't you?" Royal replied.

"She's mine," Citrine declared to Jasper.

Maybelle huffed, and went over to the male Reaping Bowl. She picked out the piece of paper and tottered back, already opening it.

"Lucifer Vallone!" she announced.

The chosen tribute practically strolled to the stage. Citrine thought he was trying a bit too hard. She looked over at Jasper to see his reaction, though his face was as impassive as always.

"I know him," Jasper said. "He's...good, I suppose."

"Mm, I see," she answered, going back to see the two tributes lap up the cheers, bowing.

"Hopefully this year will be a good year," she smiled.

"Hopefully," Jasper sighed as he stood up.

* * *

**Victor of the 13th Hunger Games**

**Dian Oppenheim; District Two**

* * *

Of the three times Dian mentored, all died. This year would be his fourth year, and frankly speaking, he was losing hope. Just what was he doing wrong? Was his advice too incorrect? Did he fail at attracting sponsors?

He stared morosely out at the crowd. This year would probably be no different. He gave them everything he knew, experienced. He tried his best to instill as much knowledge as possible in them. Yet, they died each time. The worst part was that his last tribute fell in the bloodbath. The _bloodbath_. Admittedly, he was killed by his own alliance, but that seemed inconsequential to the fact that Dian failed to bring back yet another.

Truthfully, he was not sure how much more he could take.

He wished he could apologize to them. But it hardly felt like enough. Apologies would never bring back the dead.

Someone sat down beside him, and he turned to look. Nerissa; she was the other mentor for this year. Her lips curved into a barely there smile before she turned to look elsewhere. Dian always compared her to ice. She never socialised much with the other Victors, always keeping to herself. She brought back their latest winner though.

"Hi," he greeted the younger woman.

"Hello." Her tone was like flint.

Words he prepared earlier left him, and he found himself staring openly at her.

"Are you going to say anything else?" she asked.

"Oh, I'm sorry, no."

"Then stop staring," she snapped.

Maybe that was why the others did not like to interact with her, Dian mused as he turned back to the crowd. He sat back, waiting for the video of the Dark Days to be over and for the escort to come up. This Reaping did not fill him with much anticipation – he could already guess at who would be chosen since he checked in with the academy.

He watched blankly as the escort, Calandia, skipped up to the stage, said her usual greetings and went over to the Reaping Bowl. The earlier words flew over his head; already too used to hearing those all the time. His attention returned once he saw Calandia at the microphone again, waving the piece of paper around. He was fairly certain that she was grinning.

"Saffron Ausbern!" she crowed.

A dark-haired young woman calmly walked up to the stage. Dian brightened. She looked like she held potential. He lost his smile right after that thought. Every time he thought that, they died. He looked over at Nerissa to see her reaction. All he saw were narrowed steel grey eyes. Dian looked back at Calandia, and noted her vaguely uncomfortable expression. It seemed to stem from looking at Saffron.

"T-the male tribute now!" Calandia cheered before going over to the Reaping Bowl, picking out the white piece of paper. She walked back.

"Noble Belaire!"

Noble walked out, arms behind his back, with a self-satisfied smile. Dian observed him, already trying to see if he can glean anything off Noble from his composure. It was hard to gather much, really.

"Thank you for choosing me, District Two. I will definitely come back as your Victor," Noble announced.

"Not if I'm around," Saffron bit back.

"And your tributes for District Two, Saffron Ausbern and Noble Belaire!" Calandia hurriedly proclaimed, nearly tripping over her words in the process.

"They sound fun, don't you think?" Dian muttered to Nerissa.

"I wonder," she answered coolly.

The duo passed them, and Dian looked at them, catching Noble's triumphant look, and Saffron's bitter glare.

Fun.

* * *

**Victor of the 7th Hunger Games**

**Yared Salis; District Three**

* * *

Yared, personally speaking, wanted very much to retire permanently. There was no such thing as permanent retirement for him though, so it would have to be suicide. But after very nearly coming to death in his Hunger Games, Yared decided that he did not want to deal with it intentionally now. Besides, as he looked out at the milling candidates before him, he knew he had to continue living for those who would be continue to be reaped. District Three did have another Victor, but he committed suicide.

It hurt Yared each time he thought about it. But, he could understand.

His fists clenched. He needed to stay alive for those who needed him to be their mentor. To be the one to understand. This burden he would carry alone, but he refused to break under it.

"Hello Yared," a kindly voice greeted him.

He turned to look, smiled at the aged woman standing beside him.

"Hello Mrs. Kaden," he smiled as he shifted down another chair to make space for her.

"Thank you, Yared." She lowered herself into the chair, still smiling. "And you can call me Berel."

"It's fine," he assured her. "Today's a pleasant day, isn't it?"

She looked startled at the sudden change of topic before smiling again and nodding.

"It is. But not so much for those who will be chosen, I'm afraid," she replied as she turned to look out at the crowd before them. A heavy sigh left her. "I wish we could change things somehow."

"So do I," he answered quietly. "It's best to keep such thoughts to ourselves however, with the kind of surveillance we're under."

"True," she agreed, smile fading as her husband went up to the microphone to deliver the mayor's speech.

They observed in silence, Yared knowing what Berel thought. Eighteen years ago when he was reaped, his world shattered. It could not be called rebuilt because a Victor did not simply regain back their old life. He was not exactly sure what sort of world he lived in now, but he held enough comfort in its uncertainty. He wondered what sort of expression he was pulling now as he watched the escort greet the people excitedly. Berel once told him that he always looked like he supported the weight of the entire world on his shoulders.

Looking out at the piece of paper that the escort now held, the paper that sealed one's fate, he knew that he at least supported the weight of two people's lives.

"Theia Panteon!"

There was a beat of silence, then a wail pierced it. Yared's heart broke. She had to be young. He could only continue to look on as the girl dragged herself up to the stage, tears streaking down her cheeks. She reminded him of his younger sister when he was reaped. Every part of him yearned to hug Theia, and reassure her that everything would be fine even if it most certainly was not.

Danyl walked over to the other bowl, taking out the lone slip of paper, and went back. Yared glanced at him, caught a glimpse of what seemed like a tortured look, but it was gone too quickly for him to ascertain.

"Caden Kober," the escort read out.

Yared prayed that it was not another young one. That wish lasted for only a mere second before an enraged cry broke it. A young boy stepped out from the fourteen year old section. His jaw was set, and he looked ready to commit bloody murder but tears rolled down his cheeks. He snivelled and wiped his nose on his sleeve, climbing the stairs to the stage. Yared could only stare. Two young ones this year.

How could he manage to bring even one of them back?

* * *

**Victor of the 19th Hunger Games**

**Valorya Ades; District Four**

* * *

Valorya skipped over to her seat on the stage. She tossed her hair as she sat down, crossing her legs. This year was terrific. It would be her first time mentoring, and for a Quarter Quell nonetheless! Pride surged up in her as she grinned at the possible tributes gathering in front of the stage. This year would be her year of glory. The first time she would mentor, she would bring back a Victor. If Valorya could choose, she would gladly reenter the Hunger Games. It was too terribly exciting.

"Hi Bastian!" she greeted cheerfully as her fellow mentor sat down beside her.

"Hey," he replied back gruffly.

"Let's work well together!"

"Yeah."

Her face fell. Well, wasn't he just a joyful one? She shrugged. No matter, she would get him to warm up to her eventually. Her eyes met with the escort's, and she shot him a brilliant smile. Ingram returned it. People always did.

After a bit more of waiting -and whistling on Valorya's part- everyone finally gathered. She tuned out instinctively, always finding the proceedings before the tributes were called boring. Some of the volunteers had rather amusing reactions. She pressed her lips together to stop her smirk. During her year, she practically shoved the chosen tribute out of her way to get up to the stage. She almost sighed in contentment. That was wonderful.

This year was different, but hopefully the chosen tributes could provide her with some entertainment.

"And now for our female tribute!" Ingram yelled, opening up the piece of paper. "Diella Artino!"

Valorya lit up once she spotted Diella. Her expression was fantastic; hurt mixed with disappointment. The Victor hesitated though, unsure if she saw her in the Career Academy before. Oh, whatever! Details could be sorted out later. Valorya's grin grew bigger when she saw how Diella pulled herself together as she walked up to the stage, head held high. The burning glare barely fazed Valorya. She loved people who showed hatred openly. She always found it a very frank display of emotions.

Ingram went right on to the next tribute, already coming back with the paper. Valorya looked at Bastian, and nearly snorted at his intense scowl. He would get wrinkles.

"Nolle Wheaton!"

A few seconds passed with no appearance of Nolle. Valorya frowned. Did he freak out? Dear god, she hoped not. If he did, she would have to slap some sense into him later.

"You're all idiots."

Well, that was certainly shocking. Valorya's eyebrows shot up once she heard that. Nolle finally went up to the stage, eyes narrowed and arms crossed. Valorya turned back to look at Bastian again, curious to find out how he saw his tribute.

If looks could kill, Nolle would be dust, she thought.

* * *

**Victor of the 5th Hunger Games**

**Quant Vogel; District Five**

* * *

He was getting too old for this.

Quant groaned as he lowered himself in his chair, clutching his walking stick for dear life. It felt like even the slightest breeze could break him in half.

"Quant dearest, are you sure you're going to be okay?" Dabria Zall, a fellow Victor, asked from beside him.

Honestly, his bones felt ready to break in all sorts of places. He was too frightened to fall. A visit to the doctor would be needed.

"For now," he grunted, relaxing against the back of his chair.

The younger Victor sighed, raking her hand through her dark red hair. Quant liked her the most out of the three Victors of Five. She was a spritely young one, not having lost much of her vibrance. He supposed that her arena contributed to that. The other Victor on the other hand, was too cynical for Quant's tastes.

"Really," Dabria complained, "why did they have to pick you to mentor this year? You need rest! Not heading to the Capitol and trying to woo all the sponsors."

"I should have volunteered to be mentor, huh?" Kaven grinned.

Never mind cynical. It was Kaven's laziness that Quant hated most of all.

"It's fine, I'll survive," Quant replied, shooting a look at Kaven to tell him to shut up.

Kaven smiled innocently. "Oh, of course you will. Unless someone pushes you down, then we'll see about that!"

"I'll push _you_ down the stairs first," Dabria retorted.

"Ooh, scary."

Quant ignored the younger two as they continued their argument. He personally thought that Dabria saw it more as an argument, and Kaven merely playing along with her. The latter rather liked pushing Dabria's buttons, Quant noticed.

"Quant!" Dabria called, sounding quite indignant.

"Yes?"

She told him what Kaven said then, much to latter's horror. Quant only chuckled. These two, no matter what he liked or disliked about them, would be something akin to family.

Before they could continue, the microphone shrieking made them all wince.

"Oops, sorry!" their escort laughed. "Ah yes, yes. Happy Hunger Games, everyone! Let's get right down to business, shall we? Females first!"

Mandel hopped over to the bowl, and thrust his hand downwards into it. Quant couldn't contain his cringe when he saw how dangerously the bowl was almost dragged off the table as Mandel dragged out the piece of paper. The escort hopped right back to the microphone.

"Tanis Leland!"

If it were possible, the district became even more silent. A few people shuffled to the side to make way for Tanis, one or two looking awkward. Quant frowned as he watched her come up to the stage. Tears were threatening to spill over. He could see how hard she fought them back even from where he sat; the way she blinked rapidly, and the thinning of her lips.

"But she's so..." Dabria murmured, trailing off.

Quant gripped Dabria's hand, squeezing it as best as possible to comfort her. Mandel patted Tanis on the head once she reached his side, then went off to the other bowl. He came back with the slip of paper.

"Valour Pavel!"

Valour Pavel... Quant recognised that name. It was the name of the Head Peacekeeper's son. A solid 'thud' resounded, and the people surrounding Valour cleared.

Quant watched as a Peacekeeper headed over to Valour, yanking him up to bring him over to the stage. Nervousness registered very clearly on Valour's face.

"Oh my," Dabria tittered anxiously as Mandel introduced the two tributes to the district again.

"We'll just have to do our best as always," Quant smiled at her.

* * *

**Victor of the 11th Hunger Games**

**Pamilla Nacht; District Six**

* * *

Pamilla pursed her lips as she saw Sarkis snore away on his chair. Still, it was better than him downing bottle after bottle. She shuddered at the memory of him going cold turkey. She honestly thought he was going to die. After that, he turned to drinking to escape. Stopping him was rarely something she tried nowadays, if only because he threatened to kill himself each time she did.

She sat down beside Sarkis, worry marking her features. As it was, he barely pulled his act together every time he mentored. It was impossible to switch him with anyone else because District Six only had the two of them as Victors. Each year, she fervently hoped that they would be able to bring back a Victor. Sarkis hated the Capitol. His drinking habits got worst with every passing year.

Looking out at the gathering crowd, she held onto her hope that there was a Victor out there somewhere. Hopefully District Six chose one of them this year.

A while later, the Reaping started. Sarkis continued to snore away, so Pamilla woke him up. She attempted to do it gently at first, but when it became clear that wasn't going to cut it, she gave him a sharp jab in the ribs.

"Blargh?!"

"The Reaping's started, Sarkis," she said quietly. "At least stay awake for this. The cameras are on you."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," he drawled, but did not go back to sleep.

The proceedings were the same each year. The mayor's speech was just a bit longer this time to address the Quarter Quell, then the escort came up. Pamilla could see the weary look in Laetitia's eyes. This year was her sixth year with District Six. Pamilla supposed that she had every right to be upset at her lack of promotion.

Laetitia said her usual, but with a lot more boredom this time, then went to draw the female tribute's name. Pamilla glanced at Sarkis. He seemed more awake now; he sat up straighter.

"Lincoln Fleetwood!"

A few moments passed before Pamilla saw her. Lincoln was grinning, but the Victor could see right through it. Pamilla continued watching as Laetitia went on to reap the next tribute.

"Adrian Holt!"

"Oh, him," Sarkis commented dryly.

"I'm not surprised," Pamilla replied.

Adrian walked up to the stage, completely calm. She thought she saw acceptance in his eyes as well.

"District Six, your tributes for this year! Lincoln Fleetwood and Adrian Holt!"

* * *

**Victor of the 15th Hunger Games**

**Faulkner Leclair; District Seven**

* * *

"I wonder how the tributes are going to be like this year," Genesia mused.

"More sane than those the pair last year, I hope," Serilda answered.

"Wait, were they really that bad?" Faulkner asked as he sat down in his chair.

"You saw them!" Serilda exclaimed. "They went utterly nuts in the arena."

"It was more of the arena that drove them crazy though," Faulkner said as he looked at the people milling into the square.

"No, you don't get it, Faulkner. You weren't their mentor. Though, I have to say that the arena only made whatever they were afflicted with worse."

"Hopefully this year's doesn't do the same then," he replied drolly.

"Well, it'll be you dealing with them this time," Serilda reminded him with a big grin. "I get to rest."

"Yay," his tone was flat.

Serilda gave him a smug look as she settled back further in her chair, arms folded. He sighed. Those two women were a handful. They constantly teamed up to plot against him. Sometimes, he wondered if their mental age ever went past nine years old. Then, they would do something that surprised him, and he would rethink it. It was in this manner that they built their relationship. Faulkner didn't really quite mind it though. There was a warm feel to it; he liked it.

Looking at Genesia and Serilda bantering away with each other, he was glad to have them, that they had each other. He was certain that without each other, they would not have been able to recover so well from their Hunger Games. A shadow still haunted them nevertheless. The three of them only made it easier to manage.

"Mariel looks good today," Serilda remarked as she spotted their escort.

"Only because she looks normal. She likes looking like the rest of us," Genesia answered.

"Yeah, she'll get plastic surgery one day to look like you, Gen," Faulkner quipped.

"Shut up!"

He sat back and tuned out his surroundings. Too many things happening at one go often overwhelmed him. It only got worse after he came out from his arena. Till now, he still had yet to really be able to cope with it effectively. Unfortunately, it also meant that he usually lacked awareness of his surroundings.

"Riona Vinati!"

Faulkner jolted. Serilda looked at him, then smiled. He knew she understood. Focusing on the Reaping, he saw Riona sashay up to the stage. He arched an eyebrow at her expression.

"She has the bitch face," Genesia whispered to them both. Faulkner cracked a small smile despite himself.

Faulkner saw their escort beam at Riona before flouncing over to the male Reaping Bowl. She plucked out the piece of paper from it, before prancing back to the microphone.

"Ari Everly!"

Everly. That last name rang a bell in Faulkner's head, but he could not remember where he heard it from.

"Ari Everly?"

The boy had yet to come out. The Peacekeepers moved out, walking straight to the seventeen year old section.

"I can walk fine!"

Even at this distance, Ari's voice carried quite clearly over the people. He shrugged off the Peacekeepers' hands, glaring at them, as he stalked up to the stage.

"District Seven, I present to you your tributes for the 25th Hunger Games! Riona Vinati and Ari Everly," Mariel crowed.

"They seem normal enough," Genesia observed.

"I'm taking Ari," was all Faulkner said.

* * *

**Victor of the 10th Hunger Games**

**Radek Lyraigne; District Eight**

* * *

It was lonely.

Radek stared up at the sky, the clouds lazily moving.

It was lonely being the only Victor.

He supposed, after fifteen years of repeatedly having no Victors, that him winning was a fluke. The details of his arena were hazy to him, and truthfully speaking, he didn't feel much motivation to force himself to remember. The panic attacks he got every time he tried were not worth it.

A sigh left him. Maybe that was what impeded his ability to mentor his tributes to his fullest capability. A mentor with barely any memory of his Hunger Games was not much help. Ah well, maybe another fluke would happen. That would be nice. But flukes rarely happened, if at all.

The clouds looked content. What would it be like to be a cloud?

He burst out laughing at that thought.

When he calmed down, he noticed some of the others in the vicinity looking at him with a weird expression. He grinned at them, waving his fingers. Most people in the district seemed to think he was mad, so why not keep it up? It made for entertainment when he was bored anyway.

He looked down at his watch, saw the hands ticking by, reaching twelve. Just then, the Dark Days video came on, the voiceover blaring out. Radek waited patiently for the video to be over, for the mayor to speak, for the escort to walk onto stage. Fifteen years of solitude and waiting for something that could never happen made him a patient person. Or maybe it was more of an emptiness.

"The female tribute first!" Leif walked over to the glass bowl, drawing out the slip of paper.

He walked back, unfolded it there, and read out the name, "Solis Aisling!"

Radek looked to the female section, trying to find this 'Solis Aisling'. It was rather easy to find her; seeing as a small circle had formed around her. Solis was staring vacantly at the stage.

"Solis Aisling!"

The Peacekeepers started to move at the second call of her name. But before they could reach her, she started walking. A frown was etched onto her face, fists clenched so tightly her knuckles turned white. Radek took note of all of this. It was good, he thought, that she was trying to maintain composure. Finally, she went to stand beside Leif.

Leif went to call the male tribute next.

"Mordant Fassett!"

A squeak went up. Mordant shuffled up to the stage. Radek watched the two tributes standing beside Leif; one trying to be as composed as possible, and the other wearing a brave expression though his shaking body said otherwise.

"Try my best again...right?" he muttered to himself.

* * *

**Victor of the 16th Hunger Games**

**Marley Kneed; District Nine**

* * *

The weather was fairly good today. The sun was hidden behind clouds, and there was a gentle breeze. It hardly mattered to Marley though. She remembered the whisperings she heard around the district during the voting period. It worried her. Looking over at Nimelle, their eyes met, and she smiled reassuringly at her.

"It'll be fine," Marley said, wondering if she was trying to comfort herself or Nimelle.

Nimelle returned the smile with one of her own, but it was wane, and did not reach her eyes. Hollow. That was what Nimelle was, and Marley knew that very well. The older Victor wished she knew some way to help her, but she was no expert in matters such as this. From the other side of Nimelle, Evin shot a worried look over at Marley. She shook her head, still clinging onto the hope that what she heard was false.

But really, she doubted it.

"Marley?"

"Yes, honey?" she asked, looking at Nimelle.

"Are you alright? You look a little pale."

"Oh, no. I'm fine, don't worry," Marley reassured her.

There was a brief pause before Nimelle replied. "If you say so."

They lapsed back into silence. It was always hard to talk to Nimelle since she rarely contributed much to conversations, and even harder when there was someone else around. It felt rude to talk as if she was not there.

So, in silence, they waited for everything to be set up, and the eligible tributes to gather. This sight was a familiar one for Marley. It never changed. The only time it did was when the tributes were reaped. There was a volunteer, but he died. All those lives that she was never able to save... Marley clenched her fists. No, it was not entirely her fault. Only one could come out alive.

But she could not even save one until Nimelle. And look what she had become.

Overhead, the Dark Days video blared out. Everything went on as usual, and then it was finally the time for the tributes to be called.

There was a poignant pause as everyone waited for Lydia to read out the name. But that hesitation confirmed Marley's worst fears. She gripped Nimelle's hand tightly.

"Ni-Nimelle Miller," Lydia read out softly.

A few people in the crowd looked down, guilt all over their faces. Rage burnt in Marley as she watched Nimelle slowly stand up. She wanted to protect her, volunteer, anything. But she couldn't. She had to watch the tribute she saved two years ago enter the Hunger Games once again. She could only watch as Nimelle walked over to Lydia's side, eyes narrowed, fists clenched. But her body was shaking as well though she tried to hide it.

Marley held back her tears.

Lydia went to get the male's slip of paper, brows furrowed.

"Everest Tucker!"

A brunette walked out from the sixteen years old section, valiantly trying to keep up a poker face. Marley could see fear mixed with a bit of relief swimming in his eyes.

"Marley," Evin whispered.

"Yes?"

"We've got to try even harder this year."

"Yes, yes we do," she replied softly, watching Lydia present the tributes to the district.

* * *

**Victor of the 4th Hunger Games**

**Ubrig Maddox; District Ten**

* * *

Today was bright. Too bright. It should be gloomier, darker, to represent that an entire district had to choose two tributes to enter the Hunger Games. That they were cursing them.

"If you continue scowling, you won't be able to smile anymore, Ubrig," Odette murmured as he sank into the chair beside her.

He looked over at his fellow mentor before grinning widely.

"You don't have to worry so much about that, Odette."

"You've been scowling ever since the Quarter Quell announcement though," she pointed out.

"It's inhumane! They're basically sentencing people who could have escaped to their deaths!"

Odette shook her head, frowning.

"Don't think that way. It's not as if they have any choice. And we never know, maybe Ten will have a Victor this time."

"The outer districts were able to do well until those Careers happened," Ubrig replied bitterly. "Now, we need to pray that the Careers oust themselves first."

"There's always hope."

"Hope doesn't exist. Not now, not ever. So long as this continues."

The only thing they could depend on were themselves. No one could be trusted because, in the end, everyone looked out only for his or herself. Ubrig glared out at the teenagers before him. It had always been that way.

Odette sighed.

"Believe what you want, Ubrig."

The Reaping started, and he watched the same thing happen all over again. Twenty-one years ago, it was him standing as a possible tribute among the many. Now, he was seated onstage and watching them either get reaped or volunteer. He found the volunteers stupid. No matter their reason, their survival was close to nil once they entered the arena. Odette always took those since he antagonized them unnecessarily.

"It's time for the tributes!" their escort cheered.

And that bumbling idiot was always so _happy_. If Ubrig had his way, he would have slapped many people silly.

The escort walked over to the female Reaping Bowl, picked out the name, and walked back. He unfolded it, and said, "Jaeleigh Aurelius!"

Sniffles were heard in the next moment. Ubrig narrowed his eyes as he observed a pouting Jaeleigh walk up to the stage, tears spilling from her eyes. He looked over at Odette. She was always better at reading people than him. Her lips were tugged into a mirthless smile.

He looked back to Vivar who seemed a little flustered at Jaeleigh's crying. He zipped right off to the male Reaping Bowl, and took out the piece of paper. He walked back to the microphone and called, "Finch Bouef!"

A few seconds passed, then a male came out from the seventeen year old section. Disbelief and fear were written all over his face as he walked up to the stage. Ubrig thought he should at least give Finch credit for not crying like Jaeleigh.

"District Ten, I present to you your tributes for the 25th Hunger Games! Jaeleigh Aurelius and Finch Bouef!"

Ubrig groaned. His mentoring job would be neverending, would it?

* * *

**Victor of the 14th Hunger Games**

**Ranya Damas; District Eleven**

* * *

Seated alone as always, Ranya turned to look at the empty space beside her. There was no chair there. But there used to be. Victor of the 1st Hunger Games; Casimir Melik. He used to sit there, but he died three years ago due to an illness. She was glad for his mentorship, nonetheless. He taught her many things that managed to bring her tributes far in the Hunger Games. They all died, but she saw each death as a learning experience.

Every year, she had no choice but to mentor again. To mentor until she finally brought back two Victors. Only then could she rest.

And, she also wanted to save the life of at least one tribute. It would be something she would never give up on. She just knew.

She looked around, and saw the mayor and his wife talking in one corner of the stage. His wife turned around then, and smiled. Ranya returned it. The two of them were fairly close, Maia supporting Ranya after Casimir passed away. Even before that, Maia took care of Ranya at times after her victory. It was assuring for the young girl then that she was not entirely alone.

Ranya swore to do the same for her next Victor.

Everyone onstage scattered and went to their respective seats or positions. The Reaping was starting. Ranya straightened, wanting to present a strong image of the remaining Victor of Eleven. Throughout the entire sequence of events, she paid attention. She always did. It did not seem right for her to be caught loafing. Nellis pranced onto stage when it was time for her to appear, and Ranya smiled to herself. She always liked the escort. She was considerably down-to-earth.

"Welcome, welcome to the 25th Hunger Games! I hope you are all as excited as I am! Ladies first!" Nellis declared.

But of course, appearances needed to be kept up. In their world, appearances were everything.

Taking out the piece of paper that held the female tribute's name, Nellis went back to the microphone and opened it.

"Leviathan Ula!"

Leviathan sidled out from her section, and walked over to the stage. She was perfectly composed, face not betraying a hint of emotion. Ranya approved.

"Next up, the male tribute!" Nellis cried as she went to pick the slip of paper.

And a brief moment later, "Bailey Morgan!"

Ranya watched Bailey walk out confidently, smiling as he went up the stage. Nellis seemed pretty impressed, Ranya noted. The escort held a gleam to her eyes she rarely had.

Ranya sucked in a deep breath.

Maybe this year would be a good year.

* * *

**Victor of the 6th Hunger Games**

**Lyulf Uden; District Twelve**

* * *

Honestly, Lyulf was getting tired. After his Hunger Games, Oksana won two years later, and there was no Victor until Grey. But years of mentoring took its toll on him. He had no idea how much more he could keep up with it; the constant mental strain, the need to bring back one tribute. He wasn't sure how many more deaths he could handle. How many more failed mentorships.

It was not as if he could pick though. He had to keep on trying. Trying until he no longer could. Only then could he rest.

He looked over at Oksana, saw how drawn her face was. Even she was tired. Twelve stood a chance until the emergence of the training academies in what they called the Career districts. It was wrong to give up on the tributes though. Each new tribute might be able to win. They would not know for sure until they entered the arena, and let their Games play out its course.

"I hope we'll be able to bring back a Victor this year," Oksana murmured.

"We will," Grey answered confidently as he always did each year.

Lyulf wondered where Grey got his unfaltering confidence from. It seemed so otherworldly. When was the last time he was able to say with utter confidence that Twelve would get a Victor?

"Don't give up hope," Lyulf added.

Oksana smiled.

The Reaping started after a while more. Lyulf watched everything that happened. He always did. Watching his surroundings became a habit after his Games. One that he was unable to shed. The lurking fear that something would happen if he looked away was too real to ignore. It hid in the shadows, but ate away at him when he gave it room to.

After what felt like forever, it was finally time to call the tributes. The Reaping seemed to get longer and longer with each year, or maybe that was Lyulf's own weariness.

Lucia held the slip of paper in her hands. She unfolded it and read out, "Ash Reichel!"

The girl walked up to the stage. It seemed as though she held a mixture of emotions. Fear along with relief. Interesting. Lyulf wondered why.

"And the male!" Lucia called out once she returned from the bowl. There was an obvious hesitation to call out the name when she bent her head to look at the piece of paper. "Grey...Darkwood!"

"What?" Grey spluttered. "Is that even allowed?"

That was what he said, but Lyulf could see the anger in his eyes and the way he set his jaw. He looked at Oksana. She had turned pale. He felt a little faint himself. Why was the district so cruel? Grey only came out of the Games four years ago! True, he wanted a Victor, but that did not mean he wanted one of them to return.

"Grey," Lyulf began but was interrupted.

"This is stupid," Grey snarled as he stomped up to Lucia's side.

"W-why?" Oksana whimpered. "It doesn't make sense."

Lyulf could only let out a shaky laugh. This was insane.

* * *

_One man's meat is another man's poison_

* * *

**A/N: And here we are with the reapings and the complete list of tributes! Thank you to everyone who submitted, and I apologise to those who were unable to have their tributes accepted. Congratulations to those who are accepted!**

_Tribute list:_

**District One-**

M: Lucifer Vallone, 17  
F: Royal Costayne, 17

**District Two-**

M: Noble Belaire, 17  
F: Saffron Ausburn, 18

**District Three-**

M: Caden Kober, 14  
F: Theia Panteon, 15

**District Four-**

M: Nolle Wheaton, 18  
F: Diella Artino, 18

**District Five-**

M: Valour Pavel, 17  
F: Tanis Leland, 18

**District Six-**

M: Adrian Holt, 18  
F: Lincoln Fleetwood, 15

**District Seven-**

M: Ari Everly, 17  
F: Riona Vinati, 18

**District Eight-**

M: Mordant Fassett, 16  
F: Solis Aisling, 13

**District Nine-**

M: Everest Tucker, 16  
F: Nimelle Miller, 17

**District Ten-**

M: Finch Bouef, 17  
F: Jaeleigh Aurelius, 16

**District Eleven-**

M: Bailey Morgan, 15  
F: Leviathan "Levi" Ula, 18

**District Twelve-**

M: Grey Darkwood, 18  
F: Ash Reichel, 17

* * *

**Blog link- anathemahg25 . blogspot . com (also on profile)**

* * *

**You may have noticed that your tribute is placed in a different district and/or underwent a name change. That is because some districts received too many submissions, and the names had to be changed to make it less blatantly obvious that it belongs to another district.**

**The following chapters will be four POVs each.**

_**Questions!**_

From the Reapings, and the blog, what are your first impressions and why? Any favourites?

**And a review on my writing would be appreciated :)**


	4. Caged

**Train Rides**

**Caged**

* * *

**District Two Female**

**Saffron Ausbern, 18**

* * *

Saffron stalked into the train carriage, and dropped into the couch. From the peripheral of her vision, she could see Noble conversing with their mentors. Probably trying to kiss up to them, she figured. She didn't care though. Her eyes trailed down to her calloused hands, and she balled them into fists. Finally, she had gotten what she wanted.

"Saffron, right?" a deep voice cut in.

Saffron's head snapped up, green eyes meeting with Noble's deep blue ones. He held out a hand to her, smiled.

"Of course I'm Saffron, you twat," she snarled, ignoring his hand. "Were you conveniently deaf when that woman called my name?"

Noble's eyebrow twitched. She smiled in satisfaction. It felt good to irritate him like that. It would be even better if she could rile him up even further. Noble Belaire; she heard of his family. They sucked up to the Capitol by giving them horses to use for the chariot rides. Such people would never experience the other end of the spectrum since they already had it all. Her upper lip curled into a sneer.

"Ca-calm down," their escort stammered out. "Let's watch the Reapings recap!"

Saffron's eyes flicked to Nerissa and Dian. Dian had an awfully wry expression whereas Nerissa calmly sipped her tea. It made Saffron wonder if Nerissa even cared about what was going on.

"Of course I was," Noble snapped after a few moments, completely ignoring Calandia. "I was just confirming that you were the daughter of that sex buddy. Ausbern, right?"

Black dots exploded in Saffron's vision as she jumped up from her seat, leaping at him.

She wasn't his daughter. She would never acknowledge her father as hers.

Before she could get her hands around his neck though, someone had stepped in front of her, and threw her to the ground. Pain ricocheted through her. But it was enough to get her back to her senses. At the back, Saffron could hear Calandia tittering nervously. There was that sound of a teacup being placed back on its saucer.

"Enough, Saffron. It wouldn't do to kill Noble outside the arena."

Nerissa came into vision, hovering above the sprawled Saffron.

"Then I'll kill him in the arena," she answered coolly, remnants of her rage ebbing away.

A thin smile spread over Nerissa's lips.

Pushing herself up, Saffron massaged her neck a little. Dian stood at the side, and she narrowed her eyes at him. He was the one that threw her. A bit more force and she would have been incapacitated.

She walked past Noble as she headed back to her seat. Though soft, she could hear him mutter, "I'll like to see you try."

She shot him a savage grin.

The television turned on then, and Saffron turned to it. She arched an eyebrow when she saw an advertisement for dolls. They were at the wrong channel, she supposed.

"Ooh, they look pretty," Calandia gushed from behind.

"The recaps," Dian prompted.

"Oh, right!"

The channel changed, and they were at the Reapings recap. Just in time, she saw the District One male walk up to the stage. She focused on the appearance of the two tributes; more interested in sizing them up. It made sense if the Career districts sent in only their best. Saffron narrowed her eyes, lips curling up into a smirk. Then that meant everything would be all the more fun once she entered the arena. The higher the stakes were, the more dangerous things became, and the more people could be rattled when something shocking happened.

The Reapings went on to District Two's. Saffron watched hers, and smiled when she saw how composed she was. Her grin grew even bigger when she saw her sadistic smile flashed at the cameras. Sadism was hardly something she was personally fond of, but if the angle worked well then she would play along with it.

"Will you be in the Career Pack?" Noble asked her suddenly.

She hid her surprise at the sudden question well.

"Of course. What's with that ridiculous question?"

"You seem like the type to strike out alone. Honestly, I'll be surprised if they accepted you."

Her smile was frigid.

"We were both picked because we are the best trainees District Two has. If you're surprised I'm going to be accepted, then obviously you lack a brain cell or two."

"Colour me surprised. I thought you were picked because you managed to convince everyone that you wanted to bring honour and glory to our home. Well, I'll tell you now that that will be me."

Someone sighed from behind them, but they were not stopped.

Saffron clenched her fist, willing herself not to punch Noble's lights out. People like him were the absolute worst. There were the ignorant, and then there were those who thought their background and wealth automatically put them on a pedestal. They looked down on those lesser than them, those less fortunate. Her eyes glittered with anger as she stared at the television, not even seeing the screen anymore.

Honour and glory? Fuck that. The district was too restrictive. Too many rules and regulations in place, too much surveillance. Training helped her to focus and vent. The dark maelstrom of bitterness and anger could be displaced elsewhere. It made her feel lighter. But, she was still too constricted.

The arena would allow her to fly free.

She would be able to do what she truly desired.

* * *

**District Three Male**

**Caden Kober, 14**

* * *

Theia reminded Caden of his younger self.

Something about the way she flinched whenever Yared came too near, and the clothing she wore. The sleeves were too long, and obviously too warm for her since she pulled at the collar every few seconds. She sat at the furthest end of the sofa, away from everyone else. But, each time Yared talked to her, Theia smiled brightly.

It disgusted Caden.

How could someone still smile so brightly after all that? He tried looking at her eyes, wanting to see if they were as brilliant as her smile. But her eyes expertly avoided his, focusing only on Yared before going back to the screen.

Caden continued staring at Theia, not even hearing Yared talking to him. He knew of her; she was insanely popular at school. Ebony had talked about her a few times, said how she hated Theia, and was going to vote for her. If Julian couldn't keep his eyes away from Theia and on his girlfriend, then his district partner had it coming. It was her fault for flaunting her beauty and getting everyone to look at her. Of course she would be hated.

But, she still managed to laugh as if nothing was wrong at all.

His grip tightened on his aged silver pocket watch. It was sickening. How could someone still be so happy? They had just been reaped for the Hunger Games! He stopped staring and looked at the screen, glaring holes into it. Maybe she was one of those sociopaths who climbed the social ladder to manipulate everyone. That made perfect sense. She deserved to die if that was the case.

"Caden!" Theia called.

"What?" he turned to face her.

She looked slightly taken aback; he wondered why. There was no way that someone as scheming as her would be so surprised, especially not after she replaced Fallon as most beautiful and popular girl. To Caden, Fallon was the prettiest girl in the whole district.

"That's a nice token," she said smiling.

The way she said it sounded genuine. Still, he regarded her warily. Didn't she feel any anger or hatred at the district for voting them in? He could not trust her. He looked back at the television.

"Yours is too. That necklace thing, right?" It had a lightbulb pendant hanging off it.

"Yup!"

The District Five female was making her up to the stage now. She looked pathetic for someone older than him. The male was called next. Caden had to say that Valour's reaction was even worse than that female.

"So," Yared suddenly spoke up from the other couch,"will you two ally together? I think it would be good."

Caden was aghast.

"Of course not!" he spluttered, looking over at Theia as he said it. What looked like hurt registered on her face for a few seconds before she smiled. It looked so forced.

"Well, if Caden doesn't want to, then it's fine. I'll just find other allies!"

How sad she sounded made Caden feel slightly guilty. His rejection was too harsh. Nevertheless, he refused to apologise.

Yared sighed. "Let's continue watching the Reapings."

Was there really much of a point to watching the Reapings? The reactions by the tributes could always be faked. Though, Caden supposed that looking pathetic would actually be real. It seemed pretty hard to fake tears and that woe is me expression.

His thumb circled the top of his token, feeling its cracked surface. It had already been a year since they reconciled, but Caden had thought that his father would not see him during the goodbyes. But he had come, and given him this old watch that he treasured. His dad came with his mom too. Thinking about it again, hope sparked in Caden that they would get back together. His childhood was not even close to excellent, but it seemed as though his father was good for his mother...? The more he thought about it, the more he remembered those times of emptiness.

Times when it was just him and darkness.

Times when he tried so hard to protect Celeste.

Biting down on his bottom lip, Caden abruptly stood up and headed over to where the food was. He stuffed a chocolate muffin into his mouth, biting off a large portion. Unconsciously, his right hand tugged his sleeve down, trying to hide the faded scars on his arm. Just a few months had passed since his mother stopped hitting her children; him and Celeste. But, if somehow she started again, then his younger sister would be all alone with no one to rely on.

He ripped off another portion of the muffin and chewed it angrily. The tears started welling up again. They spilled.

"Yared, Caden's crying!" Danyl yelled. "What do I do?"

Fear, so much fear and anger in him. It felt like something in him was scrabbling to come out. He hated the district, he hated them so much for voting him in. He hated his parents for treating their children like that.

"Caden, what's wrong?" Yared asked, coming to kneel beside him.

Caden looked at his mentor, then at Theia and saw her worried expression. He stood up and fled to his room. Throwing himself onto the bed, he started sobbing into the pillow. He never wanted any of this. What did he even do to deserve this?

It was just him and solitude now. No one else would be here to hear him cry. The fear felt so suffocating.

All the while, he clung onto his father's pocket watch as if it were his only lifeline.

* * *

**District Twelve Male**

**Grey Darkwood, 18**

* * *

"Have you decided on any potential alliances?" Oksana asked.

"Not yet. It would be better to talk to the other tributes first," Grey answered.

"How about you, Ash?" she asked, turning to the younger girl.

"I'm not sure," she admitted. "I'll have to interact with the other tributes first. I'm definitely getting allies though."

She cast a glance towards Grey, one that he recognised as hope. It reminded him of his ally strangely enough. That time, it was fading hope. This was bright. He offered a smile to her, then turned back to the recaps. They were showing District Nine now. He smiled when he saw Nim onstage. It lasted briefly, disappearing entirely once he heard her name being called.

He stared at the screen, disbelieving. Nim was standing up, making her way over to the escort.

A growl of agitation tore through him as he slammed his fist on the table. How _dare_ they?

"Grey? Are you alright?" Ash asked.

He forced a smile and sat back down.

"Nothing," he replied. "It's nothing."

Everyone in the carriage knew he was lying, and he knew that. But he didn't want to explain himself to a stranger. It was bad enough that he was chosen. It was even worse that Nim had also been chosen. Frustration clawed at him. He wanted to hurt something, someone very badly.

He closed his eyes, trying to get himself to calm down. Lyulf and Oksana left him alone which he appreciated. The images of her Reaping played out over his mind; her clenched fists, her shaking body. He knew her well, maybe a little too well, but they became incredibly close friends over the two years after she won. No amount of crying and screaming would reverse time. He never wanted to enter the Hunger Games again.

He never thought he would be reaped along with Nim.

Opening his eyes again, he stared up at the familiar ceiling. The chandelier that hung from it was still the same as three years ago. He knew that if he looked out of the window, he would see the same greenery rushing past. It was all the same, but nothing was the same anymore.

Being angry would not help. It would not solve anything. He had to start thinking. He already won this once; he held an advantage. Deep down, he personally doubted that he would be able to again. The fact that he was a Victor meant he would be marked right from the beginning. Fending off the Career pack would most certainly spell his death. But, he refused to join them. He would be back-stabbed the moment he entered the arena.

But the anger still remained in him, made even worse by the fact that it was restrained. Balling his hands into fists, his fingernails dug into his flesh. He gritted his teeth and took deep breaths to calm himself. The anger faded away though not by much. He tried his best to ignore it.

Looking over at Ash, he wondered if he should ally with her. He did not know the reason for her being chosen, though her relieved expression still left a question mark. The little he did know pertained to fighting skills. He refrained from asking though. He wanted to meet Nim first and settle everything with her.

He would think further, but his mind was too much of a disorganised mess to really strategise. There was still time left, enough time for him to finish his planning and hope it worked. He would have to protect Nim, and try not to die before her. The effect that would have on her was not something he liked to think about. It brought back those unwanted memories of those nights. When he was barely able to hold her together.

Grey returned his attention back to the screen again. The recaps were now at District Ten. It would be hard to gather much of an impression from the tributes without interacting with them, but he could also guess at who would not pose a threat at all.

Grey smiled at Lyulf, and the older Victor nodded. Grey knew he understood, that was all he needed.

Truthfully, Grey didn't think he could come out of this alive.

Out of twenty-two tributes, he was advantageous in that he experienced the Hunger Games already. He knew how it was like. He was intelligent, he would be able to gain sponsors easily. There was almost no one he was attached to. Almost. It was Nim who threw everything off. It was selfish, but he hoped that if Nim died, it would be by someone else's hands and not his. He didn't know if he would be able to kill her.

Retreating into that shell of his for now seemed to be for the best. He couldn't run away forever. But he had been running for a long while already.

Just a bit more would be fine.

If reality didn't satisfy, he would return to where he knew best. To where logic and intelligence ruled everything.

Turning his head to the window, he saw the familiar scenery. He barked out a bitter laugh. Of the two times he rode in this carriage, both were also bringing him to his uncertain death. He came out alive once. It probably would not happen a second time.

* * *

**District Eight Female**

**Solis Aisling, 13**

* * *

Solis stared down at her token; a book on the different types of materials.

Would her next sibling be a boy or a girl?

Her lower lip quivered, but she managed to still herself. No tears, no tears. She did it earlier. She would be able to do it now. To her side, Mordant was quiet with the occasional sniffle. Radek had tried to talk to them earlier, but neither of them gave much of a response. The television was blaring, showing the Reapings recap but with commentary this time.

Curling up in her corner, Solis hugged her book tightly to her chest. Solange, her older sister, gave it to her. Solis was glad for that; the book held a special significance to her. Peeling her thoughts off her family before she thought about _her_, Solis focused on the recaps.

She sat up straight, ensuring that she appeared prim and proper. Glancing over at Mordant, she saw that he was finally paying attention to the screen as well.

"Are you two willing to listen now?" Radek asked as he came to sit in between them.

"Of course," she answered coldly.

"Ye-yeah," Mordant stammered out.

"Alright," Radek said. "First, we watch the Reapings. It goes without saying that you must avoid the Careers, but we'll be able to analyse the other tributes as well, and maybe find potential allies."

Solis shrugged. Fair enough. Returning back to the Reapings, she saw that they were now showing District Ten. She wondered if Safira had to experience this; sitting through this with Radek. Looking up at the older man, she saw how shadowed his eyes were, how weary he looked. She turned back to the screen. That was of no concern of hers. Her only concern was to come back alive, however much she personally doubted that possibility.

Would her next sibling be a boy or a girl?

That thought slammed into her again. Her grip tightened on her book, fingernails digging into its cover. Rapidly, she blinked back tears.

She was replaceable.

No one would miss her.

Then, she gritted her teeth and refocused. That was their fault! If they didn't like her, it was their problem. She was who she is. If they could not accept that, then fine. She would win the 25th Hunger Games, come back, and rub it all in their faces. That she won at the tender age of thirteen.

She wouldn't be replaceable if that happened.

Her mother would not forget her.

"-lis? Solis?"

Radek's voice pulled her from her thoughts, and she turned to look at him.

"Yes?"

"You looked a little preoccupied there," he said.

"I was only thinking." She glanced at Mordant and saw how rigid he was despite his obviously plastered on brave look. "You should take care of Mordant more. He looks like he'll die earlier than me."

"So-"

She turned her head away from him, ignoring him. The Reapings were much more interesting than this awkward atmosphere hanging between all of them. Behind them, she could hear Leif still chewing loudly on the various snacks. He was slurping a drink as well. Her nose wrinkled. It was disgusting. The way he ate and drank was disgusting. Sighing, she wondered why her district partner had to be so weak. She was hoping he would be someone strong so she could latch onto him.

Watching the Reapings, she saw the two tributes from Eleven. They were all cursed, weren't they? The ones who were chosen because they were expendable. She opened her book and ran her finger up and down a page, feeling its roughness. She could probably guess at why she was chosen. Not many, if any, liked her.

She closed her book and would have continued watching the recaps, if not for Radek speaking to her again.

"What?" she demanded, facing him.

"You should eat something before we hit the Capitol," he said, gesturing to where Mordant was already eating with the escort. They seemed to be getting along pretty well. Seeing how they ate like a bunch of pigs, she wasn't surprised.

"Only if they stop eating so messily," she answered.

"You're so rude!" Leif exclaimed as he stuffed a pastry into his mouth.

"Solis," Radek said.

If her hair was not tied into a ponytail, she would have tossed it. Now, she just sniffed and walked over to the table. She set her book down on a clean spot before sitting. Gingerly, she reached for a cupcake and bit into it. Her eyes widened as the sweet taste exploded in her mouth.

Sweet, too sweet.

But she resisted spitting it out, and forced herself to finish it. She gulped down a cup of water after that to wash away the taste.

Leif chortled. "Can't handle it?"

"Your cooks are horrible," she said bluntly.

Taking a few moments of satisfaction from his contorting face, she turned back to watch the Reapings. Her eyes flicked to Mordant. He was still gobbling down his food. Her upper lip curled in distaste. Food was spraying everywhere. She moved her chair further away. Looking at the screen again, she watched the girl from Twelve climb up the stage. Who was called next made Solis freeze.

"Grey Darkwood."

_Grey Darkwood._

The Victor of the 22nd Hunger Games. The very same Hunger Games that Safira had died in.

Solis' body started shaking. Someone spoke -it sounded like Mordant- but she did not hear anything. Her older sister died because of him. He had walked away when she needed water badly, and she was his _ally_. Blinking fast, willing the tears back, Solis tried to look away, but she continued staring at the screen. Her heart squeezed painfully.

Something wet trickled down her cheeks. Safira who protected her, Safira who gave her attention, Safira who loved her.

Safira who was forgotten by their mother.

Solis burst into tears.

Around her, she could hear the voices of the other three. But they all seemed so faint and distant, as if they belonged in another world altogether. Someone pulled her into his arms, saying words of comfort. It all jumbled together, and made absolutely no sense.

* * *

_Severed ties leave you here in your fiction, alone where the dreams only die_

* * *

**A/N: Our first four tributes!**

**_Questions:_**

Which of these tributes stood out to you?

Any particular one you liked?

* * *

**In other news, The Winter Palace should see an update tomorrow if all things go according to schedule.**

* * *

**Next chapter: Chariot Prep**


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